


Sing, O Muse: Of the Wrath of Heaven, and Doom Upon the World

by dreaminglestrade



Series: Bird Songs [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Elven Inquisitor, F/F, F/M, M/M, Racial Conflict, Religious Conflict, solitary child gone viral, what do you mean I have to lead now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaminglestrade/pseuds/dreaminglestrade
Summary: She was a minstrel. Some wandering elf meant to play music whenever it suited her. Leading an inquisition had never been in the job description.
Series: Bird Songs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552063
Comments: 14
Kudos: 13





	1. Forced Beginnings

When had she signed up for this?

Lara stood frozen before a charred skeleton. It stared back, eyeless, and stretched its arms out to her as if pleading for help.

Other such figures cowered nearby, their exposed muscles gleaming back at her. Flame still licked at sinew and bone and the smell of death choked Lara’s senses. The faces around her turned skyward in voiceless horror.

She’d known these people. Seen these people. Why wasn’t she _one_ of these people?

Thoughts raced through Lara’s mind and her stomach lurched angrily. She ordered her feet to move but they remained nailed to the ground, as if her shoes had driven roots into the soil beneath.

The figure before her seemed to move, seemed to ripple with the heat beating from the ground. She could hear the crackle of fire and ash as it twisted to life. It craned its neck and stretched, a gnarled, black hand clawing out for her-

“Hey.” Lara jumped and gasped so hard that the rush of air to her lungs was nearly painful. She rocked on her feet slightly, feeling as if the world had been thrust off its axis. The moving corpse sat motionless; after a moment, she realized it had never moved in the first place.

Lara’s eyes shifted right, searching for the voice’s owner. She found the dwarf from before, peering up at her carefully.

Right. The dwarf. The one with the fancy crossbow. Varric. Live, breathing, seeing Varric. Relief and grief crashed over her all at once and she averted her eyes quickly, ashamed at her lack of control.

Reality always came rushing back in a wave. She’d never been particularly good at beating back the adrenaline that followed.

“You alright?”

Not at all.

Not while people were dead and she was to blame. Not while a gaping hole in the sky roiled above them.

But damn her if she was just going to sit and cry about it. There were things to do. Rifts to shut and her innocence to claim.

_Maybe you’ll wake up in a minute. Warm and snug in bed. Just a nightmare. You’ll be-_

“Fine.” She let Varric’s hand tug her gently back through the carnage. Out of sight, out of mind- the sooner they moved, the sooner they could leave.

*

She’d never seen jade _float_. Not in the sky, at least.

That’s what the rift looked like- like some giant crystal that somehow managed to defy gravity. It might have been pretty, if it didn’t look so ominous, sitting on air. Seeing it up close set the hair on the back of Lara’s neck on end. She could practically see the claws curling out from behind the clouds. Hundreds of eyes peered down at them and for a fleeting moment, Lara thought of spiders.

A shiver ran down Lara’s spine and she shook her hand out as if it hurt, desperate for an excuse to cover up her fear.

The whole world was afraid now, watching a sky torn asunder, fighting off every manner of creature that should have never touched the likes of Thedas. But she was in the presence of strangers. She couldn’t afford to look as petrified as she felt.

_I hope the clan is alright._

“Now is the hour of our victory.”

The voice boomed into the air around them and Lara stopped in her tracks. Her eyes darted from rock to rock and she stiffened, waiting for the hidden speaker to show himself.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

She knew that voice, how did she know that voice? The man’s tone buzzed uncomfortably against her eardrums; his words spoke of age, of power, and she felt drawn towards them.

But sacrifice. SACRIFICE. Why did it feel like she was revisiting an old memory when she couldn’t recall ever following such a command?

Cassandra was watching her closely, just like before, as if she expected her to turn her tail and run at any moment.

It wasn’t entirely a mad thought. Still, one glance at the spiraling wisps of green writhing above them was enough to remind her it was a foolish one.

They continued onward, a touch more wary, and each step forward into the crater made her stomach sink lower. The air itself seemed to sit heavy in her lungs and Lara rubbed at her face in an attempt to shed the grit from her skin.

Murmuring kicked up behind her as they neared a cluster of red crystal, bursting from the stone. Her fingers itched to touch it and a strange, soft chiming floated into her ears as if it streamed from the vein itself.

She couldn’t recall stones ever singing before. Not like this.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.” Lyrium? Did lyrium sing?

“I see it, Varric.”

The dwarf continued his muttering from behind her, almost spitting each word. His sentences clipped through his teeth in fearful, sharp bursts and for a moment, she wondered if perhaps she’d mixed up her new companions.

It didn’t seem possible for the confident, smug man from before to sound so very afraid.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it.”

That was Solas. Sensible, logical Solas who she could probably trust for any manner of scientific reason- any person who could figure out how she had attained a key inside of her hand surely knew basic geology.

-but lyrium?

Boots scuffed against the ground and she could hear Varric shifting. It was stifled, but panicked- the sound of leather on leather, cables snapping against a glove, a huff of air and muffled words.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

They needed to move on. Rifts first. Strange, glowing, _singing_ stones later.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

There it was again. Lara’s bones ached and for a moment, she allowed herself the thought of running straight back from where they’d come. Past the lyrium, past the rift, past the temple. She could dive into the trees where the voices stayed quiet and the sky was _meant_ to be green.

“Someone, help me!”

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

Cassandra stuttered to a halt behind her and with her, the idea of running. The woman’s face was stricken, desperate and seeking closure. Lara watched her for a moment, quietly damning her sympathy to the great beyond, before sighing.

She could suffer her daydreams later, when this was settled.

Lara took a step forward to drop down to the last level. Almost as if it sensed that she was close, the rift split into multiple branches; her hand responded, a crackle of green light across her skin. It wasn’t a conversation she was interested in having.

“Someone help me!”

“What’s going on here?”

Lara’s eyes widened and she looked up from her palm. No. That was her voice-

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…” Cassandra’s tone bordered between suspicion and betrayal. Lara had the urge to spin around and shake her, insist that she didn’t have anything to do with the gaping hole in the sky.

“Run while you can! Warn them!”

“We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” A shape- a towering monster of a man, aimed an angry finger to the left. Towards the elf. Towards her. Lara’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to piece the scene together in her mind. She couldn’t remember and this echo of a moment pressed jagged puzzle pieces back into her memory. She was there-

“You _were_ there! Who attacked?” Cassandra moved forward, barreling into Lara’s shoulder. Her eyes raged and she grasped Lara’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. _I don’t know._

“And the Divine- is she… was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember!” Lara shook the woman off, taking a step back and pacing back in the direction they’d come. She needed to move, needed level ground and answers.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.”

Solas’s calm was maddening now, the comfort his knowledge provided no longer a balm. So what they’d seen had happened, the shadowy glimpses of herself were real, and the longer the rift sat, the longer they would question.

_So seal it._

“This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the Rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.” He paused and Lara drew a hand down her face. Nothing good ever came of a discussion like this.

“However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” 

Lara turned again to look at him and the mage glanced back at her, his eyebrows raised just slightly. Cassandra was already moving, shouting, soldiers lurched into position around them.

“That means demons. Stand ready!”

Three soldiers drew their swords and the sound stung in her ears. The vocal ache of bowstrings pulled taut lit her skin alight. The rift buckled and screamed, a taunt unto itself. The air pulsed with energy.

This was how it was, the rhythm of battle. The keeper had told her this was how it would be, the first time she’d ever drawn her string back, her eyes focused on her target.

_But it’s just you and that arrow. Take a breath._

How had she gotten here? A week ago, she was leading a chorus of drunken patrons at Redcliff’s tavern. Now, she was facing down demons. Actual demons. Seething, ravenous, murderous _demons_.

_Take a breath._

The mark on her hand crackled and itched, as if someone was slowly pulling her palm apart. A sickly green light pulsed across one of her veins, radiating pain straight up her arm. The rift before her snapped and spit in time. She lifted her hand skyward.

_Focus, da’vhenan._

No point in putting it off now.

Blinding jade rippled from her palm, the dam of her self-control set loose. It poured into the rift, feeding it, and Lara watched as fissures split open like chipped crystal. It was odd; each moment she’d spent forcing rifts closed had felt slow, quiet, like she was caging off the sound and shifting bits of the world back into place.

Now, it felt like tearing off a weeping scab. The scene around her fractured, sending needles rocketing up into her skull and a roar across her eardrums. With a hiss and a bang, the rift snapped open. The snarl of something large and angry roared from nearby. With a start, Lara realized someone was yelling, taunting, and then-

Arrows. Right.

Shaking her head to dispel the green fog from behind her eyes, Lara dug into her quiver with her right hand. The familiar ping of arrowheads repelling off of something hard reverberated in Lara’s ears. Great. So it had armor.

A demon with armor. Delightful.

Later, she wouldn’t recall every moment of the fight. It would come back to her in flickers- roars and gurgling moans, shouts, an exchange with Solas, some demon pulsing towards him and taking one of her arrows to its eye. The pride demon would draw a spined sword down on Cassandra’s shield. It would wrap flares of electricity around Varric’s ankle.

But she remembered the end- that defeated slump in the behemoth of a monster. Solas gesturing towards the rift as another sloth demon crumbled into pieces.

The world around her had blurred, just enough that she could see the opening, and her hand went again for the rift. Again, that glorious feeling of fitting the world back together and then, a shriek, a bang, and everything went black.


	2. A New Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lara awakens in Haven to find a somewhat different plan than she intended.

Green light flickered above her.

Something smelled of meat. Something burned, heavy and thick. The odor cloyed in the back of her throat and Lara clapped her left hand across her mouth. Her palm sparked; with it, faces burst into flame around her, the holes where their eyes should be glowing orange. Creatures skittered behind her, chattering- no, she knew that sound, knew this pla-

Lara sat up with a gasp.

She blinked, drawing a shaky hand down her neck. Her skin was slick with sweat. The bed beneath her, however- a bed, not the stone floor of a jail cell- was an unexpected comfort. They’d deigned to put her somewhere a little more comfortable, at least.

A surprised squeak burst from the doorframe and Lara lifted her head to find a young elf. Her face paled even past her expected pallor and she wrung her hands, staring at Lara as if she were about to burst into flame herself. Perhaps she had. Last she remembered-

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Lara smiled softly at her, concerned she might bolt if she moved off the bed.

Even so, the elf stood bolted to the floor before dropping to her knees and bowing deeply. The temperature of the room seemed to drop and Lara’s arms prickled with goosebumps.

Now what was she doing that for?

”I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” The girl stuttered, her expression still stricken, and Lara’s chest ached. Was she really so volatile that an innocent child was afraid of her? What had she done, outside of a couple strange magic tricks, to warrant that kind of reverence? 

“Please don’t do th-”

“You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

Lara stopped, considering the girl’s words and wondering if she was even capable of an act. Her hand prickled and Lara’s eyes roved across her palm, but she was right. The girl was right. The strange slip of light sat where it had before, but the edges tucked inward.

It was a pleasant reprieve from the pulsing.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

Surely she was hearing things. Lara stood finally, shaking her head and moving forward.

“So they’re- happy with me?”

The girl- gods, she wished she knew her _name_ \- stiffened, back on her feet and hurrying for the door.

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” She was rambling now, barely getting out one word before the next followed. Nervous, she was so _nervous_.

_Just sit down. Just look up. At me._

“I’m sure Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awakened. She said, “At once.” Her breath stuttered and Lara tucked her hands back down at her side. She wouldn’t contribute to whatever horror story the child had imagined her to be. She could be patient.

“Where is she?”

“In the chantry, with the lord chancellor. “At once,” she said.”

The girl stumbled from the room, nearly tripping over her own feet and Lara was left alone again, in a room far quieter than she ever preferred one to be.

*

Heavens, the gossip.

Lara had been in more cities than she could count, more towns than she could remember. Each one grew a grapevine of news and rumours that could make one’s ears bleed. But it had never been about her.

She had always been the simple elf at the back of the inn. Good voice. Nice face. Couple coins, she’ll play you a ditty.

But never this. Never _Herald_ , never this mad idea that she was some kind of sky prophet.

It was barely a few days before that they’d stared her down with judging, angry eyes, hissing threats and bunching their hands into fists. Now, they stood in awe, their faces glowing with admiration of all things. Their whispers bore surprise and gratitude. The crowds parted like waves every time she drew close.

She wasn’t sure which attitude she preferred.

*

All of it was forgotten the moment Lara stepped through the chantry doors.

Everything _glowed_. As if the building had made a pact with light itself- ribbons of golden sunlight peeked in through the windows and climbed up each pillar. Long rows of benches sat in the shadows, but even so, the wood seemed to shine- _you are safe here_

Even the dust glimmered, each speck drifting on rays of yellow and red and fluttering towards the floor.

She’d wanted to see it for so long. Wanted to step into the “divine” houses of Andraste with no one to breathe down her neck, no one to watch her with steely eyes and gritted teeth.

It had never been an achievable reality.

Yet here she was, standing among rows of fine drapery and gleaming floors. The door plunged shut and she couldn’t imagine a better word for it, _plunged_. She could hear the heavy planks dragging closed across the floor, the ringing hum of the frame as the door shut. It was somewhere between a boom and the shrill cry of steel being drawn, and the sound echoed up into the rafters as if someone were projecting it from atop a mountain.

Voices carved through the noise, somewhere down the hall, but they bounced off her eardrums. She could remember voices coming from places like these, but they rose in exaltation, praise, spilling from the windows and out into the night like the wind were the strings.

She’d never heard it from inside.

_“She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!”_

It was his voice that broke through first, the clerk, no, the chancellor. Angry and demanding. Fear curled around every word and Lara drew her eyes back down from the ceiling to the door at the far end of the hall.

_“I do not believe she is guilty.”_

Cassandra. Not words she’d expected the woman to use, after their introduction, but just as confident as her accusations had been.

_“The elf failed, Seeker. The breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.”_

Lara breathed in slowly, willing the frustration out through her fingers, through her feet, as she started towards the door.

She should have been leaving. Should have been turning on her heel and ducking out the back. If the man was so sure she was the root of the cause, perhaps her absence could be the boot in his back that proved otherwise.

_“I do not believe that.”_

_But Cassandra didn’t believe that. And who was she to leave a desperate woman to chaos?_

_“That is not for you to decide.”_

His words rung, just as loud as the door had, and again, the sound chased outwards. The words gnashed at her, his tone tearing wildly across her eardrums. She could imagine tiny Chancellor Rodericks sitting inside her ears, digging their nails into the sides and chattering nonsense, filling her head with mocking commands and furious charges.

_“Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”_

_“My duty is to serve the principles of the people- as is yours.”_

Cassandra’s voice was softer now, almost pleading, and Lara stepped forward to knock against the door. Enough. She’d eavesdropped long enough.

“I believe you were looking for me.” She entered quickly and turned to Cassandra, nodding her head in absent recognition.

Without a single moment of hesitation, the chancellor stepped forward and pointed squarely at her.

“Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Two large men, seemingly made of solid metal, pressed into the room and Lara’s heart jumped into her throat. She hadn’t recalled anyone standing inside but herself, no one guarding the door, where had they come from?

There was nowhere to move, no room to kick out. Her hands flew to her waist for a blade that was no longer there and her mind raced. Was this how they’d decided to do it? To order great behemoths in to corner her, to drag her out, to make a scene-

A soft hand rested just between her shoulder blades and Lara’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. A woman stood beside her, draped in gold with her hair pinned to perfection. She watched her with something akin to confidence, and for a second, Lara wondered if this was what a human Keeper might look like. Proper and calm, her stance so sure of itself that Lara could swear the woman had been using it for years.

_‘It’s alright.’_

“Disregard that, and leave us.”

Lara’s eyes shot back towards the door. The guards paused, their hands still reaching in her direction, their expressions confused but not defiant as Cassandra stepped forward.

Had she just stood up for her? Had the same woman who had bore down on her with accusations and threats not days before just stood up for her yet again?

The room stilled, the tension so thick one could feel it clawing up the walls. All eyes flickered between Cassandra and her, each face an amalgamation of suspicion and surprise. The hand on her back ghosted off, so light Lara wondered if it may have never been there in the first place.

The boom of the doors shutting made her jump. But no guards.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” Chancellor Roderick’s voice hung heavy with disdain and doubt; Lara had to resist shaking it out of the man.

_What did I ever do to you? Who put you in charge? Look me in the eye when you speak of my guilt._

The man was a coward, a bully shaking in his blessed boots, his Maker-given control shaken to pieces by a ravaged world. Shouldn’t this fit him, pointing fingers at those standing in his way? Shouldn’t she have expected this of a cleric unsure at the end of the world?

_How does it feel being lost?_

Swallowing her ire had taken a moment of concentration and it was with a start that Lara realized they were going at it again, Cassandra, the chancellor, and now the hooded woman from before, Leliana. It would have been enjoyable to watch maybe, had the field been more level, if it had been two reasonable sides and not two angry ones. As it was, three squabbling voices rose into shouts and Lara’s ears throbbed against the cacophony of untempered tones clashing together.

She shifted on her feet and glanced towards the door. Her hands twisted behind her back and for a moment, she wondered how far she could make it if she ran. 

The dull clunk of plate armor bumping around wedged its way beneath each voice and Lara’s gaze roved over the room again before catching on the man in the middle. Templar. His eyes watched her, void of the aggression she’d seen in the guards, but wary and- _no, you don’t need that sword, I’m not leaving, I’m right h-_

A loud clap of something heavy being thrown down rang through the room and the silence returned tenfold. Lara’s ears rang with the lack of noise in the air and she let out a long, slow breath of air. Each face turned towards the large book upon the table and with as much emphasis as her voice has held, the Seeker pointed at its gleaming cover.

“You know what this is, Chancellor.”

But Lara didn’t. Lara had lost track of any form of helpful knowledge in the conversation before she’d even walked in. A fly on the wall had no hand, no wing in making grand decisions. But then again, perhaps a “herald” with a glowing green mark on her hand did.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“-A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act.”

Gods, she used to have that voice, used to command a room with a bunch of words and an air of unbreakable confidence. She missed that voice, speaking so proudly of valiant tales and known paths. The last two days had hardly seemed worthy of a story ending well, and now, this woman spoke as if it was providence.

With a writ of a dead woman she couldn’t recall wanting dead, this woman commanded like she _knew_ , and Lara felt _small_.

_“As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”_


	3. Moments Measured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are moments- in a new town, in the conversation of a grateful stranger, in quiet companionship, that remind the Herald it's not all bad.

“She likes you.”

Lara’s eyes widened and she lifted her hands from the horse’s mane as she turned towards the voice.

Horsemaster Dennet leaned against a post only a few feet from her, his arms crossed, an appraising look on his face as he observed her. 

Lara shifted on the balls of her feet. Beside her, the mare in question blew air from its nose as if frustrated for her sudden shift in attention.

With a soft smile, Lara drew her hands carefully back to its nose.

“I like her too. What’s she called?”

“Pearl. Can be a bit skittish, but you seem to know your way around a horse.”

A proud smile tugged up Lara’s lips at that. It was certainly a compliment, a specialist like Dennet recognizing her value in his area of expertise.

“I used to tend the halla. People call them ‘skittish’ too.”

“Never kept ‘em.”

“They’re not meant to be _kept_ really.”

She didn’t mean it in insult. It was simply a fact. The halla came to a clan because they asked them to. The halla stayed with a clan because they asked them to. Anyone who deigned to think otherwise would promptly receive a hoof in the mouth and a lack of halla.

Pearl nudged her head beneath Lara’s hand and the woman’s smile grew. She’d agree with Dennet- there was a nervous energy in the horse’s skin and her ears were constantly moving, taking in every sound she could manage. But there was control there too, a stifled hunger Lara could relate to.

It led her to try, to run as fast and as far as she could. There was hidden power in that, the motivation to _move_.

“She’s lovely. Would you show me the others?”

They spent several hours after that, reviewing each mare in full. Lara found comfort in grooming them, the soft sounds they made when she dragged a brush over their backs, and Dennet seemed pleased to offer someone his knowledge.

The man was quiet too and she saw a mirror of the horses in him, smart and willing, but wary. They exchanged words only when necessary and Lara enjoyed a number of hours in the comfortable ease of the man’s company. It was late into the evening before Cassandra thought to find her by the horses; it took another few minutes of prodding to pull her away.

“Another time, Master Dennet.”

“Herald.”

For the first time since the conclave, the fondness in someone’s voice felt _earned_.

*

Losing her lute had been something else to grieve after the explosion.

It was nothing compared to the lives extinguished in that moment, of course, but it had been a part of her still. She remembered seeing it for the first time, sanded down and newly painted in a shop window in Denerim. It had taken ages to earn the coin for it, but that had made it all the more worth it when she’d finally plucked a string and called it her own.

Tempest, she’d named it. And like Bianca was to Varric, it had become an extension of her arm.

It was with a violent longing that she’d found another small string instrument on a cart at the crossroads. It was beautifully carved, a treasure hidden underneath the worst of circumstances, and her hands had itched to sweep it up and strike up the first tune that came to mind.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford it this time. She’d made plenty enough with the amount of coin she’d taken off of fallen templars and mages in the area- something she still felt guilty about- but it hadn’t seemed right to spend it as her own. Refugees, weapons, armor, Haven itself- it felt selfish to her to sacrifice such needs to get her fix of music back.

But it had been so long since she’d been able to fall back into that simple pleasure. So long since she was able to share a moment with someone based purely off some jingle from their childhood, to ease someone’s thoughts away from the tension of everyday drudgery.

In the end, she’d sent a missive off to Josephine, reasoning over budgeting and charity and if there was enough to spare for the lute. She’d felt like a child again, trying so hard to corner off every possible excuse the keeper might find to say no.

Her advisor- was that what she was, what an odd role for a Dalish elf to require- had sent back a delighted yes with the sole requirement that she play something for her and Leliana upon return to Haven.

It was such a gloriously _achievable_ request, one of the first since the Inquisition had started that she was sure she could do.

“So you play?” Varric was sitting atop a log, watching her with eyes alight. It was the first time she’d seen him truly excited. Even with all the jokes, the banter, the shrugs, and the sarcasm, the great Varric Tethras has seemed somewhat diminished since she’d met him.

With a flourish, she dragged her hands across the strings in response to his question. Did she play? It was like asking her if she breathed oxygen. The answer was an obvious, emphatic _yes_.

“I play. Got any requests, Tethras?”

She’d learn quickly that asking a storyteller for his musical favorites was dangerous if she ever wanted to sleep again.

***

Lara was growing used to the people of Haven.

The stares had been concerning at first and it still bothered her when she’d catch someone to the side, eyes glazed over and watching her as if the world had snapped into existence at her bidding.

She was no god and no god’s messenger, no matter what the rumors said. And though she was quick to step in to diffuse an argument over it, she often silently sided with the naysayer. She was an elf, a Dalish elf at that, and if Andraste’s doors had not been open to her before, how could it be assumed that the deity spoke through her now?

So it wasn’t surprising that she enjoyed the evenings the most.

Earlier that night, Varric and their newest recruit, an indecipherable elf named Sera, had dragged her down to the tavern for a round of drinks. “To not getting ourselves shot,” Varric had proclaimed in a toast. They’d discussed the finer points to hitting a moving target and Sera had shouted something about shop talk being illegal after hours. Most of the citizens retired back to their homes and tents shortly before midnight.

Now, the signs of life below were small. Perched atop the slats of her roof, Lara drew her eyes slowly across town for the hints of activity.

Smoke drifted up from a campfire set near the Chantry doors. Threnn, probably- the woman was dedicated to her work and come morning, she’d likely have another list of requisitions for her. Loping silhouettes dipped into their homes and she could hear it, the slightest creak and thunk of doors shutting. Candles flickered within the metal casing of their lanterns and she lazily watched a pair of soldiers striding toward the gate. Night watch, the Templar- no, ex-Templar he’d said- had explained it when she’d asked him for daily reports.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Lara didn’t jump. Not now, when every sound could be heard from a mile off and certainly not now, when she’d practically expected someone to come looking for her.

Her advisors were getting too good at tracking her sleeping habits.

Leliana settled down beside her, draping her arms over the arch of the roof as Lara had. Mirroring her. Well, she was a spymaster. Good that she knew her techniques.

“I get to be invisible again.”

She could feel Leliana’s eyes drifting over her, but she kept her eyes on the ground below. It was somewhat of an embarrassing confession, a glimpse of selfish motives. But really, perhaps it was better for her advisors to know her as she was, not as she was imagined to be.

There was a pause, the softest inhale- Leliana always seemed to speak as if she were on stage, timing her lines carefully and watching for her cue-

“You did well in Val Royeaux, despite the immediate outcome. Words travels quickly and you made an im-”

“Leliana, you are the loveliest of messengers, but I’m not talking business tonight.”

The woman paused again and for the briefest of moments, Lara thought to apologize. She was just doing her job- delivering her report, giving her a compliment of all things, discussing what should have been Lara’s priority as well. But it was late and quiet and gods, she hadn’t climbed the roof for the world to follow her up.

They went quiet again and this time, it stuck. Minutes passed and Leliana joined Lara in her stargazing. Something like longing flickered over the woman’s cheeks. The shadows on her face relented to the starlight above them, and it was with an unfamiliar fondness that the spymaster spoke again.

“I was a bard, you know. Sometime before.”

Lara pulled her eyes down from Ferveniel to look back at Leliana, an eyebrow raised. The woman didn’t let on much and it didn’t seem likely that she would build the reputation of an enigma. But perhaps tonight, she was allowing herself the exposure. And Lara knew what the set of her jaw meant. Knew what it took to smooth the bags from underneath one’s eyes, to shrug off the past because _what if someone sees?_

“One of the best, I imagine.”

There was something like a sigh as her words buzzed over the cold night air. Leliana’s shoulders shifted, a hardly noticeable slide of cloth. A smile, soft but pleased, drifted onto her lips, and Lara felt a strange burst of pride for the stranger of a woman beside her.

_I could tell your story, if you’d let me._

“Bet I’d get more tips though.”


	4. Taking Aid From a Battering Ram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are new friends waiting on the Storm Coast.

Of all the possibilities she’d prepared for when it came to meeting this “Iron Bull”, this was not one of them.

“Drinks are coming.”

In the middle of the Storm Coast. Lara had hardly found the opportunity to drink in any city she’d stumbled upon, let alone atop a log by the sea.

She had half a mind to decline the offer. After all, her tolerance was lacking as of late and this was a matter of business. Sobriety was key.

“You remember my lieutenant, Krem Aclassi.” The man appeared at her elbow far more quietly that she’d have imagined from the raging scrapper she’d seen not five minutes before.

They bickered. Like old friends. Like brothers. As if their biting words could be solved with a grin and a bump of the knuckles.

Were these Chargers really soldiers?

“So you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it.”

Lara turned to the Qunari, pleased by his direct approach. She supposed she should have expected it from a living battering ram.

But if he was looking for gold-

“How much is this going to cost me exactly?”

Cullen hadn’t exactly handed her a budget and her own pockets were running on empty. Lara was no recruiter, spotting military skill was hardly in her job description- but the group practically screamed “professional mercenaries” and the Inquisition was in dire need of experienced fighters.

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you want to buy drinks later. Your ambassador, uh, Josephine-”

Research. So they’d done their research.

“-we’d go through her and get the payments set up. Gold’ll take care of itself, don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

Iron Bull laughed heartily as he leaned back against a soaked boulder. After a moment, Lara gestured towards the group huddled over three enormous casks by the water. They chatted casually and Lara took note, pleased at their post-fight camaraderie. If anything, they were used to the rise and fall of battle.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are,” he spoke with pride, rare to hear in a hulking leader like Bull, “-but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.” He stood and Lara was reminded again how extremely tall the man was. He towered over her, like some unbreakable pillar, and his muscles rippled in the spatter of rainfall.

_He knows exactly what he’s doing._

“You need a front line bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is- demons, dragons, the bigger the better.”

How long had he worked on these lines? A fully toned body like Iron Bull’s spoke leagues even without words- no one maintained that kind of body type without constant work. Still, there was always a need for workers and Bull skirted that possibility entirely by confidence alone. Dragons, indeed.

“And there’s one more thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Lara’s ears shifted forward at the word and a shiver of excitement traced its fingers down her spine. Of course she’d heard of the Ben-Hassrath.

Converters. Loyal souls to a locked state of mind. Horned giants masquerading as the eyes and ears of the rest of the world. But they’d seemed like a myth, biased rumors of a misunderstood culture.

She never thought she’d look one in the eye.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A feral grin stretched across Iron Bull’s face and Lara felt a familiar spike of adrenaline race into her fingers. 

“Didn’t peg you as a spy, sir.”

He barked out a laugh and Lara shook out her shoulders, wondering if she’d just challenged him.

Just like a bull- would he charge at the first sign of movement? Staying still seemed like a death wish.

For a moment, she wondered if the meeting was meant to be an execution all along.

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening.”

Ordered to join- like it was a definite, like her refusal wouldn’t mean anything and the introduction was just a courtesy.

The Qunari people thrived on rules, on assigned roles and to-the-point orders. Lara wasn’t foolish enough to assume a “no” would stop this great Iron Bull from getting the job done.

“I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

Lara’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t bother hiding her reaction. Honesty was important to her and if Bull couldn’t talk his way out of her skepticism, she didn’t want him anyway.

“That is awful courteous. You’re a Qunari spy and you just… told me?” She guessed it wasn’t unplanned- perhaps even part of the deal his superiors had worked out before handing him the job. Information was easy to skew and there was no telling how little or how much the man would give her anyway.

Still, her refusal could easily tip the scales. Telling the Qunari to keep their noses out of the Inquisition’s business would likely provoke them.

So this was as much a political move as it was a business transaction.

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

His honesty was almost endearing, but the facts were so unexpected that Lara couldn’t help but tread lightly. It wasn’t every day that someone came asking for a job with the bonus addition of being a spy.

“You still could have hidden what you are.”

“From something called the Inquisition? I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

There it was again, blunt truths just falling out of the man’s mouth like they were nothing. It was unsettling and welcoming all at the same time and Lara took a long moment to just look at him. 

Really, even beyond the complications of the Ben-Hassrath, could they afford to say no to this? The Inquisition needed the manpower, the focus an organized team like the Chargers might offer. They needed the strength and really, if Bull was being honest, they needed the inside tips they could get from him.

“Hmm.”

Iron Bull cocked his head to the side and she watched as his horns rocked right with the movement. Lara took a step forward and slowly circled him. One hand lingered against her jaw and she pressed her fingers against her lips, as if in thought.

She’d already made her decision- Bull and his party were the newest addition to the Inquisition, papers notwithstanding. But there was something about making him question, making this giant of a warrior watch her like this, like she was vital to his future, that made her feel valuable.

Rolling laughter caught her attention and Lara’s gaze shifted towards the water. Krem and another soldier bantered and she watched as the soldier clapped his companion on the shoulder. Something was said, some soft quip that only Krem could hear, and they both grinned, and so quickly it felt like a punch to her gut, Lara was reminded of home.

A clan. She was hiring a clan in the Chargers.

“Alright, you’re in.”


	5. Strength and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lara sniffs out the mystery man in the Hinterlands.

_Bet you could spin a pretty tale._

Blackwall had that kind of face. Strong bone structure, guarded eyes, the eyes of a warrior- and that beard… few men of the wild bothered to preen their beards. Blackwall’s on the other hand, looked not only trimmed, but brushed; it framed his face and curled away from his lips, hiding scars and laugh lines alike.

It was that kind of face that made someone listen. His stance was so firm, shoulders square and legs shoulder width apart, Lara practically expected a salute.

Not surprising then, that the Wardens had sent this man to recruit. Blackwall looked like he could skin a darkspawn simply by yelling at it.

“-no warden killed the Divine. Our purpose _isn’t_ political.”

Lara sighed and resisted the urge to rub at her face. She supposed it was frustrating, unnerving even, for some stranger to show up at the door with nosey questions. But the man spoke as if she was accusing him. Were all wardens so defensive or was this just his soldier side, baring its teeth at her for intruding?

“I just need information, Warden Blackwall. I’ve only found you. Where are the others?”

“I haven’t seen any wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting.” Understandable, she’d preferred her own company to others often when it came to navigating the world. But it didn’t answer her question.

“Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead. And no need to conscript because there’s no blight coming.” It was a mouthful, for what she knew of warriors. Blackwall’s vocabulary was airy, almost scripted, and she wondered if he’d ever tried out for a higher position than “warden”. Lara knew only a few soldiers who could float words so carefully.

“Treaties give wardens the right to take what we need, who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me.”

He was telling a story. Lara could see it in the lines of his face, in the way his cheeks strained on certain words, in the way his eyes shifted, back and forth, but never quite away from her face. She knew that tactic, offering her audience just enough information to imagine, to draw interest, and to muddy the assumed conclusion. He was spinning her a tapestry, a pretty little story to take home to mother after she _left_.

Gods, he was as suspicious as the Bull.

“Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are.”

Lara looked up at Blackwall, dragging her eyes from the dirt to try and get a read on him. Just as quickly as she’d decided the man was no ally, those words made her pause.

Where his information had been clean and concise before, structured with facts and details, this was emotional. He spoke of obligation, honor, and the tiniest undercurrent of pride drew his tone lower.

_Did they make you better, Blackwall?_

Lara felt the air shift between them. Blackwall stood resolute before her, a challenge sitting in his eyes. She regarded him carefully, keeping her gaze level with his. It was odd, to watch him so closely. The man’s last words had sounded genuine, truer than any of the evidence he seemed to be providing of where he’d been and what he’d been doing. His stature was pronounced, and the scratches on his knuckles, the way he heaved his shield across his back like it was an extension of his arm, spoke of experience.

But something in him didn’t fit. Something in the way he’d talked before, jumped to defend himself, hinted at panic. If the Grey Wardens were known for anything, it wasn’t panic.

Lara sighed after a moment and bowed her head just slightly before turning to leave.

“That doesn’t help me much really. But thank you for your time, sir.”

What was she going to tell Leliana? The woman had trusted her with a major concern and she was coming back with little more than a gut feeling that something was off. It wasn’t like her to come up empty, wasn’t like the Herald to disappoint. But their one lead had offered more questions than answers. An entire population of warriors were still missing and she was no closer to finding out where they’d gone.

“Inquisition! Agent, did you say? Hold a moment.”

Lara paused, her ears pricking up at Blackwall’s voice from behind her. Her hands itched; Lara’s fingers brushed against her bow in blind habit. She hadn’t pegged the man to attack someone with their back turned, but she was used to being wrong. Twisting back towards the warden, she lifted a careful eyebrow. The man seemed to understand her silence and vaulted forward to stand before her.

“ The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these.... Thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re tryin’ to put things right, maybe you need a warden. Maybe you need me.”

There he was doing it again. Acting righteous and noble, _being_ the part of dedicated warden, not _playing_ it.

Lara considered his proposal, rolling it over in her head, feeling for loose cracks and lies. Blackwall seemed to accept the attention, standing tall with his chin raised just enough to project confidence.

Wouldn’t it be better, to keep him close? If he was telling the truth, they could use another devoted warrior. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t lose him in the woods. He’d be here, under her nose, and maybe enough of the truth would spill out that she could find his missing brothers.

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”


	6. Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald was not meant to be some weaponless elf Thedas plucked into existence. Lara is faced with the idea that she is not fit for any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a heavy chapter. The next few chapters probably will be, as I plan to bring in Therinfal soon and I mean- the _game_ gets heavy from here on out.
> 
> I took on this story because I wanted to take a look at the inherent racism in Thedas, what it would feel like to be someone looked down upon who is suddenly propelled to the top.
> 
> Trigger warnings, this chapter is very race-based. While there are no modern-world slurs I intend to use, there will be attention on the fact that there will always be someone telling someone they are not as good as them. No violence in this chapter really, however there are implied past experiences and they will be noted in the future as well.
> 
> I hope I did this justice. In real life, I've never faced racial bias myself, only seen it applied to others. If any of you think my explanations/chapters do not fit that situation, please note it in the comments and I will strive to do better.
> 
> This is one weird way to say happy new year, but hey, 2020 should be about making ourselves better.

_“Who are you to lead them?  
Who are you to hold your head up higher than your fellow man?” ~Hadestown_

*

“It really is quite impressive, for an elf.”

There was a reason they called it a backhanded compliment. Lara’s cheeks stung, burning as if the man had physically drawn his ringed knuckles back across her face.

“You know what I mean. You’ve made a name for yourself where you weren’t expected to.”

The noble’s voice was sticky sweet with false flattery and she felt each word like they were daggers sliding deep between her ribs.

_You must have studied in insults, you pig._

“I know exactly what you mean, Master Waverly.”

Master? Was that what she was supposed to call him? She preferred “Lord”, or something more accurate to his personality. “That rat bastard Waverly” perhaps.

There was silence in the room now, an uncomfortable, ringing silence the man had likely aimed for. He’d asked to meet with her only after her popularity had spiked. So despite Josephine’s enthusiasm, Lara has known what the man was about the moment she’d stepped into the room.

He’d shaken her hand as if it was dirty. Looked her over from the tip of her head to the tip of her toes. Carefully regarded the crooked end of her right ear with smug consideration.

Lara’s mouth curled into something her Keeper would have recognized as troubling. But her clan wasn’t here, her friends weren’t watching, and Lara stepped in close.

“Don’t worry, my people have gotten used to spotting snakes in the woods.”

She knew by the way cloth rustled behind her that Josephine had heard it. Lara was walking a fine line here, and she understood the need for allies. But after a week of masked insults and feigned concern, she’d seen enough to know her enemies wielded words in place of swords.

She knew how to play that game.

Lara knew Josephine could see it, the stiffening in her shoulders, the way her eyes searched the dignitary’s face for the tiniest wrinkle of worry.

She wondered if Waverly could see it too. Did _he_ know how he made her skin crawl, how his conclusion of just where she belonged felt like he was squashing her beneath his tailored boot heels?

The man had paused for a moment, seemingly unimpressed by her manners. Now however, he leaned forward, using the same intended tactic she had, and stepped close to whisper into Lara’s ear.

"Ah, it is familiar prey for you, is it not? Be careful you do not err in your judgement. The greatest hunters of serpents are those who become one with their prey."

She hadn’t expected him to turn the phrase so quickly, to twist her words against her without a moment of pause. She should have, but she hadn’t.

Lara’s expression withered, betraying her mask of indifference at the man’s implication. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed against the knot in her throat. Words failed her, an uncommon predicament for the minstrel, and she struggled for some quip, some jibe to send the man before her reeling.

She’d picked the fight though, hadn’t she? Were her teeth not sharp enough to come out ahead?

“Lord Waverly, you’ll have to excuse us. We have other business to attend to. Perhaps another time?”

Josephine’s voice seemed muted, as if Lara had plunged to the bottom of the lake and stopped her ears with water. The room shivered for a moment before her; Lara grabbed at the threads of her composure as the ambassador ushered the man- _the snake, the shem who thinks he’s so much better than me, than us, then what, the real serpents-_

“I deeply apologize, Herald. We’ll accept more respectable company next time-“

Next time. The air in Lara’s chest went thick and still and her skin vibrated so hard it was painful. Next time. Because there would always be more people to see, more nobles to smile at, more hands to shake. Because here, she was paraded around like some animal, like some caged reptile, like some surprising treasure they managed to pull out of the trash heap that was elven kind-

A sound, somewhere between a sob and a shout, something between rage and sorrow, squeezed its way out of Lara’s windpipe and she turned for the door.

“Herald?”

_It’s Lara. I’m LARA._

Two steps into the hall, she missed slamming into the pauldrons of her second advisor by only an inch. A soft, but clipped voice (Leliana, right, gods, were they always around) lifted in concern, but she ignored it. She paused before her commander and spymaster, grasping for the semblance of a sentence as her mind tripped over itself. Lara’s hands fluttered with panic, trying to spell out what she couldn’t say-

_Lara, I’m Lara, use my name. Stoop to my level. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t act like you didn’t expect me to fall apart._

“Cancel- cancel my appointments.” The voice coming out of her throat didn’t sound like her. It strained against her windpipe, desperate and afraid.

She turned for the door, not bothering to acknowledge the two concerned voices rising up behind her.

A muffled voice, Josephine’s perhaps, still so far away, called out from behind her and she could feel a heavy cloud beating down on her shoulders. Whispers hissed from the shadows; Lara wondered if perhaps they came from more _esteemed guests_ and promptly decided she couldn’t care less. They could come from the Dread Wolf himself for all it mattered.

Lara’s fingers scrambled for the door handle. She pressed out into the cold morning air, her feet barely registering the stone beneath them as she sped down the stairs. Blurred faces turned towards her, their eyes judging- _it was a nice attempt, elf. Go home. Shoo._

Her hands grabbed for her ears. She pressed the pointed tips back beneath the longer locks of her hair. Voices tumbled against her eardrums, foreign and shaken, concerned, intrusive. Herald, are you... shouldn’t be here… can we he- you look ill, is there-

Each sentence jerked as if new rifts were splitting open the air and yanking each word into the Fade. Lara shook her head at the wiggling faces before her and pulled a grateful smile onto her lips. She could feel the coarse fibers of a lie settling over her cheekbones.

“Oi! Lady Herald!”

That one was familiar. The din of voices around her shuddered for a moment as Sera’s tone forced its way through the crowd. Lara searched for it like a thirsty man searched for water, needling through the wave of people until she found the voice’s owner. The elf bobbed on her heels at the tavern entrance and raised a slender eyebrow.

“Look at you, did the Qunari take a swing at you again? Whassa matter?”

_No, just be you. Just be proud, weird Sera. Don’t be Jenny. Don’t bother._

“Sera. It’s fine. No biggie.” Lara’s stomach lurched at the words and her teeth snapped together quickly, a reprimand that she was speaking at all.

Sera’s gaze felt like she was stripping her of every shield, every mask she’d carefully planted over herself, and Lara felt naked. Cold. 

“Just been a day. Excuse me, I have to-” Her words came out on an exhale. She considered her companion for a moment, trying to piece together the echoing scratches of her outline into something more still. The woman’s frame still bounced erratically, making her dizzy and nervous as if Sera was about to split into four and surround her. Lara’s hands flexed towards the gate and she tugged at her hair again as words clustered at the top of her throat.

“Excuse me.”

Turning back down the steps, Lara pushed open the large wooden doors and stepped out into the snow.

****

The Herald spent most of the morning walking, scoping out the tallest place possible. High up, as far away from the ground as she could get. It had always felt better that way, when she was upset. She could leave her problems in the dirt and just climb, then rely on the wind to yank away anything that was left.

Sometime around midday, she’d settled on the bridge stretching out across the lake. Some thirty feet above the ice, she’d buried her fist into iron, and adrenaline and rage poured out through her fingers as her knuckles came back bloody. A guttural yell erupted from Lara’s throat, the culmination of days of stifled frustration and forced commitments.

The sound echoed out over the lake until all she could hear was the faint chime of rusted chains swinging against the rock face. Her hands shook and Lara pressed her left hand flat against the cold steel of the bridge. 

_“-really is quite impressive, for an **elf**.”_

Tears dripped down over her cheeks and the cold air froze them into fragile patches across her face. Her breath hitched and she looked up through damp eyelashes at a slate gray sky that looked nothing like home.

No one could hear her cry out here, no one could hear her scream. She could be Lara, the minstrel who ducked her head and disappeared to somewhere else when she couldn’t handle a scene. She could imagine moving on, mapping a path out to the next city where no dignitaries, no soldiers, no “Master Waverly”s ever came into play. The patched-together diplomat with a face of stone and a glowing left hand could fall away like the mask it was.

*

“Well, you certainly read people well, it seems.”

“What kind of storyteller would I be, Madame de Fer, if I didn’t?”

The voices came from closeby, somewhere below the metal rise Lara perched on. She sighed, swallowing hard, and rubbed at her face. She’d thought they’d give her a day at least, before sending someone out to _fetch_ her.

But night had fallen. Their precious herald hadn’t returned and perhaps it was presumptuous to assume they shouldn’t be concerned.

“My dear, would you be so kind as to come down?” A voice called from far below and Lara looked up from her knees.

Vivienne? They’d sent _Lady Vivienne_ trudging through the snow to retrieve her? And the woman had _obliged_?

Lara opened her mouth, intent to inform them that they needn’t have bothered, that she would be back by morning, but her voice was spent, her lungs tired after hours of careful breaths and hardly contained bursts of panic.

She stayed where she was, balancing her chin on her hands and shutting her eyes.

They would take the hint eventually, leave and look elsewhere or report back that she was being stubborn. It wasn’t an issue she found to be of much concern now. The Inquisition would not fall apart after a couple of hours of their little Dalish child taking temporary leave. If temporary was what she intended it to be.

She heard the shift of footsteps below, muttering and then silence, and Lara leaned her head back against the bridge wall. At least they knew when not to press.

“You could have simply tried a tree.” 

Vivienne’s perturbed voice startled her and Lara’s eyes shot open again. Her mage companion carefully stepped onto the bridge, her limbs glowing with a spell. She straightened carefully, as smoothly as if she had just descended a stairwell, and leveled her eyes on Lara.

“Is that what you’ve been doing up here, feeling sorry for yourself?”

A surge of anger sparked in Lara’s chest and her eyes darted to Vivienne’s face. She knew this technique, had used this technique enough to recognize the woman was trying to pull reason from her, but this time it stung almost as much as Waverly’s words had. Lara was growing significantly tired of belittlement and if that was what Vivienne thought to do, she could march herself right back to Haven, with no herald in tow.

“Excuse me, Lady Vivienne, if I am not quite as apt as you at shrugging off constant bigotry.”

Lara’s teeth clapped shut over the last word, her throat burning with shame, and a deep sigh escaped her nose. That had been cruel, unfair- of the few arguments she had had with the woman, none of them had revolved around her being unworthy of her title. None of them had rejected the idea that she was anything but capable, and none of them had implied that her not being human was anywhere close to a problem.

“Well, at least they didn’t temper you, I suppose.”

“I apologize.”

“No need, darling.”

Vivienne moved forward slowly, her eyes on Lara’s hands, and the mage’s face softened. Her left hand grazed softly over the tears on Lara’s knuckles, the bruises blossoming across the digits of her hand. A green glow swept into each wound like a sparkling tributary and Lara felt the ripped skin and bone knit itself back into place. The sharp bite of pain that had idled in her fingers over the last few hours faded into a cool hum.

“Thank you, Vivienne.”

“We must find you a better outlet.”

Lara’s responding grin was tired and she rolled her left wrist towards the woman. She gestured back in the direction of camp and rubbed at the back of her neck.

“You didn’t need to trouble yourself coming out here, you know. I intended to come back- eventually.”

“Figured we’d speed up the process.”

Lara jumped at the voice behind her and turned to find Varric Tethras heaving himself up over the wall. He carefully dusted the snow from his pants and treasured crossbow before glancing up at her, a fond if not concerned expression stretched across his face.

“Maker, Birdie, think you could try some place lower next time?”

Lara blinked, sifting words over her tongue to explain. Her fingers tugged at her coat and she looked back and forth between her two friends in careful consideration.

It wasn’t that the clan hadn’t cared. Gods, Istimaethoriel had found her easily enough on the occasion of upset. The other elves had recognized quickly that sometimes being alone was a necessity for Lara and she appreciated their allowing her space.

She had not expected two near strangers to come looking for her when she threw a fit, especially a famed author and self-made social savant. Somewhere in the midst of the day, Lara had come to expect the Inquisition would want to set her loose just as badly as she’d wanted to leave.

Watching Vivienne and Varric standing resolutely firm beside her sent a quiver of gratitude straight into her gut. She stretched a hand out, gesturing to the two in silent explanation.

Some minstrel she was, lost for words like this.

“You two didn’t have to come find me. I was gonna come back.”

“And yet, you’re not moving.”

Vivienne was studying her fingers, carefully considering her nails as if she hadn’t just climbed up a wall to retrieve a woman who should not have needed retrieving at all.

Varric leaned against Bianca, waiting patiently, but Lara knew that face, knew the quiet silence a friend offered in exchange for the truth.

She owed them an explanation, at the very least.

“I am none of the things those people want me to be.” Lara pointed back towards camp again and her gaze shifted towards Haven. Flags billowed in the cold mountain air, almost the only thing she could make out from the bridge, but it felt almost as if the town radiated expectation.

“Some shining symbol of a holy woman I hardly believe in. This valiant warrior who defies the Fade and everything that comes with it?” She scoffed, hating the heavy demand of duty each title placed on her shoulders.

Perhaps she was being petulant, fighting something so hard when so many people needed the herald they claimed her to be. Still, she was no soldier. 

“I was playing a lute to a group of ten a month ago. What am I doing trying to _represent_ the hope of a hundred?”

“You are pointedly refusing to be elsewhere, my dear.” Vivienne spoke up quickly, her voice radiating confidence and a surety Lara yearned for. “Wherever they think that should be. That is what you are doing.”

Lara’s eyes turned upward, hooking onto Vivienne’s words and weaving them into her mind. If a socialite of her standing could believe so strongly that she had a right to whatever throne the Inquisition seemed to offer, then perhaps she could convince herself of the idea.

“How do I know _they_ are not correct?”

“Birdie.” Varric’s voice rumbled, a rare hum of solemnity for him, and Lara’s attention towards him. It occurred to her suddenly that as much as she admired and trusted Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine, the two people standing before her, dragging themselves out to some cold wall on some cold rock, were more her advisors than anyone.

“You could pick anybody out of Haven and list a hundred reasons they shouldn’t be there. Doesn’t mean there’s not a hundred more why they should be. Couple hundred in your case. Nobody _knows_ how to save the world.”

Somewhere in her chest, Lara’s heart slammed against the cage of her ribs and she drew in a sharp breath. Bloody muses, the both of them, standing resolutely between her and any excuse she could come up with to believe the pampered noble guests in Haven. Every tongue-lolling, finger wagging remark bounding around in her head quieted just enough that she could hear herself again.

“Well, this was unfair- sending two wordsmiths at me like this.” Lara smiled and for the first time in weeks, the expression felt _genuine_. She rose to her feet, brushing her hands down her tunic and smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric. It would do no good to come lurching back looking like she’d felt earlier that day.

_Feeling sorry for yourself indeed._

“Thank you, Vivienne. Varric. Shall we?”


	7. Taking Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lara ends up with more than she bargained for, as usual. A meeting with Lord Seeker Lucius turns out to be something very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to viveriveniversumvivusvici55, my beta who talked me through this chapter like an absolute boss. Million times grateful, my friend.

Lara liked Barris.

It was a strange realization, when she’d prepared so long for Therinfal and taken every step knowing it would be full of aggressors.

Barris was not one of them. She remembered him from Val Royeux- he’d argued against the cruelty of his peers as they’d bared their teeth at all but each other. It was too rare in the world, that kind of genuine aim at truth, and somehow now, standing before him in his own stronghold, she was grateful for him. It made the task of a simple flag-raising easy to accept.

“I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry?”

Mythal shame her, but she did love to hear that squawk in Abernache’s voice. She’d met many like him over the past month in Haven- noblemen schlepping through their makeshift town like the mud was a personal insult to their own dignity. Each and every gloved diplomat on the face of Thedas had smiled and nodded to them only after the promise of renown. Each had discussed the Dales with her as if they’d studied her people’s history all their lives rather than an hour before meeting her. 

So Lara wouldn’t turn down a simple, if odd, request from an esteemed Seeker just to save poor Abernache from mingling with the common folk a little longer.

The man grumbled from behind her, but she could hear the resignation in his tone. If anything, Abernache respected _rank_. That was enough, for now.

Lara’s eyes met Cassandra’s and she stepped forward towards the wheels with as much confidence as she could gather. The warrior had a surprisingly large understanding of nobility and here, back among the seekers, she was in familiar territory. If she had no qualms with it, perhaps here Lara could finally speak her own mind.

The people. Her fingers wrapped around the smoothed grips of the wheel and she wound it round and round until the flag sat at the very top. Murmurs, both approving and not, sounded from around the entrance yard, but in this, she knew her answer. No god and no movement of mortal men would stand above the innocent, above the world itself.

She was no messenger of the Maker, not by her own word, and the templars, while her choice of ally, served no particular part in her decisions yet. But the people- she had stayed with the Inquisition so that the people could survive. She’d found supplies for refugees, slain mage and templar alike, gone to a capital city set against her, that the people might come out of whatever this was alive.

If the Lord Seeker could not accept them as their number one priority, then he needn’t place as one either.

The Templars. This one was harder. Between the templars and Andraste herself, Lara felt it was more an act of fealty than anything else. Amongst those who had abandoned an age-old organization like the Chantry, was she in agreement or opposition? After a moment of consideration, Lara twisted the wheel until the templar flag swung into the middle.

Lara’s eyes sat carefully on the sun fluttering at the bottom. This could damage. After all, her circle of advisors had revolved around what to do with the Chantry from the beginning. To claim itself holy was an act unto itself. To claim itself loyal was a strategic move.

Yet, after everything this “Andraste” had offered the world, whether it be the kindness of feeding the hungry and healing the sick, or the shouted arguments and exalted marches against Lara’s own people, she could not raise its flag.

Perhaps it was a poor decision. No doubt Josephine would berate her later, toting the consequences and reminding her why the Chantry was not an ally they could lose. But she would not tie her allegiance to a long-fallen woman representing a cracked ideal of the faithful.

She knew better than to trust her gut on the stories of gods by now. If she hadn’t, her clan would be one elf richer.

“If you would, Ser Barris. I believe the Lord Seeker has promised to meet us.”

****

Even the room Barris led them to felt cold and wet. Therinfal’s climate seemed to reflect the worst of Ferelden and Lara’s skin prickled. She would have to ask Cassandra about it later, if that was unintended or just an extra obstacle to test the templars. 

Barris and Abernache stood in the center of the room, bickering as badly as they had in the courtyard. Something about order, something about war, and she wondered if they knew the argument was a loop. Lara shifted on her feet, sighing as she picked at her tunic. Behind her, Varric did the same, his eyes travelling back towards the door. Cassandra resembled a tightly wound string ready to snap; Lara wondered if she should warn the two in front of her that they were poking a sleeping bear.

Then, as if summoned, the door on the far wall of the room clicked open and a man clad in gleaming armor marched forward. He was flanked by two soldiers, just as battle-ready, confident and threatening. Barris stilled and the surprise in his voice set Lara’s teeth on edge.

“-knight-captain?”

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker. He sent me to die for you.”

The words curdled in the pit of Lara’s stomach. Barris stiffened, mirroring her suspicion, and they exchanged a quick glance of concern.

“Knight-Captain. Lord Esmerel Abernache.” The nobleman stepped towards the knight-captain, and for a moment, Lara thought of a baker approaching a chevalier, nothing but fluffy sleeves and a fat belly to protect himself. 

“It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.”

_Oh, for the gods’ sakes, Abernache, keep your tongue leashed._

“No doubt rank puts you above such things. A pity more people don’t understand that.”

Abernache spoke with blatant confidence, his tone dry, almost conversational, but the laugh that responded was anything but.

“This is the grand alliance the Inquisition offers?”

Something shifted in the air, dark and cold, and the hair on the back of Lara’s neck stood straight up. Her eyes drifted to the knight-captain’s helmet and she caught the gleam of sickly red peeking out from beneath the pleats. Was that-

“The Lord Seeker had a plan, but the Herald ruined by arriving with purpose. It sowed too much dissent.”

Sounds bounced off of Lara’s eardrums, a cacophony of voices and shouts, muffled as if from behind closed doors. Panic, she could hear _panic_ , bubbling up from beneath the floorboards and climbing the walls around them. Lara swallowed and clenched her hands behind her back, determined to stay still. Something was wrong here, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of turning her back to its herald.

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on!” Barris rushed forward, and Lara’s throat ached at the sound of fear in his voice. She knew that feeling, the sudden, overwhelming understanding that she was in over her head. The past few months had made it into common practice.

_Don’t rush forward like that. Shield up. Eyes open, Barris._

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

Lara’s eyes shifted towards the two guards at the door. Their stances remained solid, almost a mockery of the tone in the air. Red lines as dark as ink curled slowly up what skin she could see; their eyes glimmered a shining crimson. Lara’s right hand went for the quiver on her back and a warning shout clouded the back of her throat.

“For once, I agree with the-” Abernache’s voice cut off abruptly and Lara heard the loud, familiar squelch of blood bursting into the air. He fell forward, an arrow imbedded in his skull.

“Well, shit, why am I not surprised-”

Lara notched an arrow to her bow and let it fly, not bothering to watch it connect with its target before grabbing for another. Templars rushed forward, more than she remembered inviting to the room. 

Another noble beside Lara fell with a surprised shout as a sword cleaved through his middle and another curse rolled off her tongue.

“The Elder One is coming. No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red!”

So they’d wandered into a trap. She’d been so sure that Redcliffe was a bad idea, that some dark catch came tied to Fiona’s offer. When all along, it had been in Therinfal.

****

This wasn’t right. None of it was right. It was too loud. Too hot. Too green.

Fear roiled through Lara’s stomach and she pressed her hands flat to the ground, sucking in breaths that rattled down her throat.

She’d been in the thick of it, not a moment before. A burst of energy had whirled past her and froze a templar in place and Lara had taken advantage, vaulting up the stairs. He had been there. The Lord Seeker. He had been there, baring his teeth like a wild animal, his lips caught between a snarl and a wicked smile. And then his hands had grabbed for her collar and yanked and she’d stumbled forward and then-

Sounds bounced over Lara’s eardrums, angry and violent. The hum of muffled words, the crackle of flame, and a laugh, harsh and bitter, churned into the air and pulsed right behind her eyes. Smoke sat heavy in the air, rising up from the ground and out from the walls in great, billowing clouds of black. The room around her felt warped, tilted into a nightmare too thick to push her way through.

Coins gleamed wherever her feet contacted the ground, but who left money on the floor like this, like it had always been there and always would be?

Figures stood in strange circles, disconnected from one another but all proud, all speaking of a glorious Inquisition. Solas’s voice echoed back to her, muttering of demons and the power of Envy.

Envy. Was that what this was?

Traps littered the floor, random and purposeful at the same time. And there. The burning, eyeless corpses. Look what I have conquered. See how I am untouched.

Gods, he didn’t believe that, did he? Did he, it, whatever this was, really believe that it was that easy, that she could turn a scared, unbelieving world into her own blessed toybox?

“-who could stand against us when the Inquisition commands nations?”

“Oh shut up, Threnn.”

The false quartermaster didn’t hear her, waving her hands about and raving uncharacteristically. Envy. This one had quite an imagination, thinking they were all so proud, so loyal, so grateful to this “great power” the demon seemed to think she commanded.

“The people stand in awe of the Inquisition!”

“No one would question the Herald.”

Each room led to more followers, more grateful soldiers speaking of admiration and unquestionable power. The Inquisition was strong and right and solid and oh, there she was, leading the way with no one to doubt her.

Envy was blind. Lord Seeker Lucius was blind if this was what had turned him away from reason and for a moment, Lara ached for the man. To feel helpless and small was something she was all too familiar with. It led greater people than she to fall upon their own swords. Who was she to hate him for this?

Who was she to say it wasn’t possible?

*

Her sympathy was short-lived.

She was going around in circles. She was tired and lost, caught in a world full of impersonators. The faces she knew were not the people she knew. Cullen was wrong, firing challenges and questions at her in a mocking tone that twisted the commander into someone unrecognizable. Leliana was wrong, creeping in close, teasing her with threats, and promising she would break eventually. And Josephine-

When had Josephine ever looked at her like that?

Each room led to the last. More faithful droves, more faces- oh, look what I can do, said Envy- a never-ending rush of green fire and shadow. Every now and then, the world would shift, jerk sideways in a snap of black and green, and set her cells alight.

There wasn’t enough air in here. The whispers weren’t whispers and the voices didn’t match. They curdled on delivery, a poor representation of the humans they attempted to mimic. She could feel it, Envy, baring its teeth, angry and desperate. Nails skated over her skin, begging to get in, to taste flesh, to become flesh.

I want to be you.

Let me be you.

Let me. Let me. Let me. Let me. Let me.

Lara’s breath came out in a rattle and she gulped in air like a fish, backing into the wall hard. The sounds climbed, croaking and chirping and rising until they melted into a solid current of noise. They gnashed at her muscles, singed her nerves, and circled around in her head in infinite loops.

She slid down to the floor and pressed her face into her knees.

There was no way out. She couldn’t find a way out. There was no way out and she would never leave because she couldn’t leave because it was twisting and endless and absolute and-

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no nails?”

The voice was clear, so gloriously clear.

Lara’s thoughts froze in place, falling silent as air rushed back into her lungs, and she lifted trembling hands off her ears . No one stood nearby, no one hovered or hunched, but she’d heard it, surely-

Do it again.

On shaky legs, she dragged herself back to her feet. She winced at the sparks that lanced up from where her feet had gone numb, but she pressed forward anyway. She just wanted to hear it again. 

Come back to me.

Her hands hovered over a doorknob and she slipped inside a room, her eyes darting about for the voice’s owner. 

There was a bed on the floor. And a chair on the wall. And papers on the ceiling. She’d wandered into some abstract painting just as distorted as the rooms before, but it was empty, and while the voice had torn her own thoughts clear from her mind, she could feel the dark murmur of Envy’s doubt curling into her again.

Do it again. Don’t leave me here alone.

She stopped in the middle of the room, listening carefully, watching every bit of ash in the air linger and fall. Surely, she’d see it. Him. Whatever had spoken.

But after a moment of silence, she turned towards the door.

“Wait.”

Hope sprung up in her chest, so thick it was hard to swallow and Lara turned back. Her eyes scanned the room slowly and she stepped cautiously back inside.

“Envy is hurting you.” She gasped and the air tore up her windpipe so fast that it stung. Lara turned sharply, back towards the door, and found a young man.

His face brought no one to mind and her hands itched at the thought. Why would Envy have inserted someone she didn’t know into this mockery of reality? Or was he just as trapped as she was?

“Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help. You, not Envy.”

He spoke almost in riddles, but his tone was kind, careful, as if he were speaking to some trapped animal in a corner. Though really, she supposed that’s what she was.

But she’d heard of this from Solas. Spirits. Not demons, creatures of the Fade that were curious and kind, willing to approach and “help”. Still, she knew better than to trust anything here, didn’t she?

“I don’t understand how you’re even- who are you meant to be?” Lara gestured wildly towards the door in the direction of the other simulacrum.

“Me. I’m Cole.” She jumped as the voice bounced inside her eardrums again and she twisted left as the boy came to rest sideways upon one of the walls. Hadn’t he been right in front of her not a moment before? Physics seemed more flexible, wherever this place was.

“I’m still Cole.” His words seemed to bounce in tangents, but Lara knew the sound of desperation. Still Cole- whoever Cole was. Had she said the wrong-

“We’re inside you. Or I am. You’re always inside you.”

A laugh, unexpected and laced with an undercurrent of terror, bubbled up out of her throat. Strange, for a floating ghost of a person to demonstrate humor so casually.

Was that safe, thinking of this Cole as a person?

“It’s easier to hear. Harder to be a part of what you’re hearing-” She tried to follow, but it bothered her, his determination to hear her, to help her when she wasn’t really sure if he was a friend at all-

“I don’t recall asking anyone to listen.”

Cole frowned and bent his head low and for a moment, Lara felt guilty.

Stop trying to be a part of this, whoever you are. Stop trying to be a part of me. Stop trying to become me.

Let me. Let me. Let me.

The voice from earlier rippled over her thoughts, dragging them back into the pool of fear filling up inside her head.

“-I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.”

He sounded so honest. And she’d been so afraid, alone, wandering in halls that were spilling with blood red coins and false promises. Watching Threnn’s face and the syrupy grins of the nobility-

He was saying something again. Focus, Lara, focus.

“-then I was here, in the hearing. It’s- it’s not usually like this.”

Cole spoke in a stream of consciousness and as comfortable as Lara was with reading lyrics, this was not how she wanted this conversation to go. “You’re not making any sense.”

A scream tore through the air in response. Lara jerked back as her blood ran cold and a trembling hand wrapped itself around one of the bedposts.

“Every templar knew when you arrived. They were impressed, but not like the Lord Seeker-” 

Of course, the Lord Seeker, that bloody shem- Lara!- greed and jealousy and abandoned reason.

“It twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re red inside.” Red inside. She could picture crimson blots rushing through them and her own pulse pounded against her throat. Was she red inside? Or was she green, like the fire licking the floors outside the door?

“Cole, I’m gonna need you to be plain-”

“You’re frozen.” She blinked, no less confused and lifted her head. Cole had relocated to the bed and was peering back at her from beneath his wide-brim hat, his eyes round but sure.

“Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out and then in, and then I was here.”

She could hear the tapping of angry claws from somewhere outside the door, scraping across the stone floors. Speak of the devil and it will appear, no? Her head was spinning, but if Cole could just give her some kind of grip, something to make sense of what was going on-

“How am I “frozen” back in the waking world?”

“Thoughts are fast. We’re here. Outside, a blade is still falling, hanging in the air like a sunset.”

Oh.

Here. Frozen. Thoughts could be corrected.

Hope burst upwards into Lara’s chest, sending spots across her vision as she considered the possibility.

“Then I’m safe? I’m safe here.”

“No.It would be good if you got out.” His voice was quiet but sure, and the hope flitted away just as fast as it had come. She could hear the claws tapping behind her. Clink. Clink. Clink. A low hiss shivered its way inside her ears. Stop it. You don’t get to claim me yet.

“Cole. How do I get out?”

“It’s your head. I hoped you’d know how to stop it.”

Lara stared at him, caught between frustration and panic. What had they been talking like this for, if he didn’t know anything?

Her expression must have tipped Cole off because he tipped his head to the side, considering her before climbing to his feet. He licked his lips and turned in place, looking like a cat trying to settle.

“All of this is Envy. People, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more.” He was moving about the room now, looking more determined than she’d seen him yet; they both shifted, considering.

“Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks downs, you break out.”

She wanted to sing. Wanted to run out of the room, right up to the creature behind her, her face leering back at its poor representation of whatever person it had picked this time. She wanted to hum and smile and remind it that, Oh, I can beat you. I can get out. And I can put an arrow through your gut.

“So if we keep moving in my head, we tire Envy into submission?” Confidence bloomed in her voice and oh, it felt like liquid sunlight, surging through her veins, washing away the cold.

“It’s more than sitting here waiting to lose your face.”

**************************************

Think of water.

Slowly, pain-stakingly, she’d managed it. She’d doused the flames and turned them to mist, reveled in the cold water showering down over her. She’d sloshed through an ankle deep flood and stumbled into a hallway of cells. Cullen was angry, blaming himself. Mother Giselle, defiant, but tired. And Josephine- so hungry and defeated that Lara wanted to sock the false guard in the mouth just for being there.

And it was dark, so dark… but Cole was there, humming from within the walls.

“It’s dark, but it isn't real. Think of sparks.”

Yes. This again. She knew how to do this. How to dream. How to believe.

Her hands walked over the walls- brick, brick, torch- a reptilian tail curled its way around the corner of the wall and the torch burst into flame as her fear and anger collided. She dragged the torch downward and a pained screech rang up into the ceiling. The tail whipped outwards and the creature dove back into the darkness.

“Oh, did you not expect that? Shame, you should have studied more.” Disdain dripped from her words and she watched as a dark shadow retreated further down the hall.

She found it. The last torch. It burst into flame and the main wall rolled back until she could taste it- smoke-filled, bitter air, but air. Lara gulped down a sob and from somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Cole urging her forward.

She wondered if maybe she had dreamed him up.

Back through the courtyard. Go. Back up the stairs. Go. And then it she there, standing before the door- so close that if she reached out...

A hand clapped down over her back. Lara’s own swept backwards for a bow that wasn’t there, but fingers locked around her arms hard enough to bruise.

“Unfair, unfair! That thing kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape-”

It shoved her forward. Her own body moved in to meet her, a snarl stretched across its face. Her face-

She kicked out, aiming for the knees like Blackwall and Cullen and Bull had said. But the hands shifted, grabbing at her collar and forcing her off her feet and up against the door. Her own face, taut with rage, pressed itself so close she could feel Envy’s breath on her cheek.

Its eyes were glowing green. Her eyes were glowing green. She was nothing but a shadow, a silhouette with a face and Envy’s nails were biting into the skin of her neck- sinking in, biting and invading and stretching her skin-

“We’ll start again. More pain this time.The Elder One still comes.” A glowing hand- her hand, how had it gotten her hand- was dragging fire down her face-

“It’s frightened of you.” Cole.

Envy reared back, furious, but it was a burst of air, a single moment.

Frightened. It. Not her. Envy. Envy was frightened of her.

Who was this blasted demon to think it could hurt her, could snap and hiss and bite without recourse? Her mind was her own, what did this thing have that it thought it could tear so furiously through it? 

You don’t get to be me.

Lara brought her head down hard into the creature’s head and it balked, stumbling backwards.

Her feet hit the ground and then it was bright, so gloriously bright, and the sound of steel crashed from somewhere close. A pale, twisted thing writhed before her and screeched and she felt a surge of magic behind her. Solas. Oh gods, Solas.

She was out. She was back. 

*

It hardly took but a few seconds for Envy to rear back and vanish behind a cloud of whirling green, but to Lara, it felt like an hour.

The world hurt, so fresh and solid, but so present, so real that it felt like her body had been draped with weights. Her limbs ached and pinpricks of light danced over her eyes. She was back. Here. And the ground beneath her feet was the real ground and the faces before her were people, not reflections, and the voices were so real she wanted them to never stop.

“You okay, kid?”

Varric’s voice was loud in her ears, even at a murmur, but so warm that Lara wanted to weep.

Looking back at him, she watched him fiddle for a moment with a cinch on Bianca. It occurred to her that he was allowing her the excuse to take a moment to breathe.

Lara forced trembling hands down onto her quiver and she counted her arrows aloud, determined to keep her face straight and her eyes dry. She was back, no need to make a fuss. Things to face. Demons to kill.

Big breath. In and out.

“I’m fine. Let’s get moving.”


End file.
